Accept No Substitutes
I spotted a little advertisement in the local writers' rag that advertised plot bunnies for sale, so I went to check it out.
The address was for a place on the outskirts of town, out by the Pick-N-Pulls. Lots of long grass, chicken wire fences, and semi-cannibalized cars. I followed the box-flap signs advertising "Rabits" down a dirt driveway that dead-ended (cul-de-sac is far too civilized a term for it) in a clutter of ramshackle pens next to a rusting trailer. The man whittling on the step said I was welcome to have a look around. At least, I think he did. He waved toward the pens, made a sort of jovial gargle, and glued a horsefly to the ground with tobacco spit. I guess that's a kind of welcome.
Just like the article said, there were all kinds of plot bunnies. There were a number in basic brown coats with white tails, but these seemed very old and tired. They still moved pretty well but they never did anything you wouldn't expect. There was a little path around the inside of the pen that showed where they left the hutch and hopped to the food bowl. There was a stomped-down patch of grass where they peered out at the field behind the pens. After a meal and a gander at the scenery, they would then hop back to the hutch. It was like they were all on a kind of continuous tape loop. The next pen had a sleek, shiny rabbit, with legs so long that it almost looked like a hare. It would scrunch itself up like a runner on starting blocks, race about three feet and come to a screeching halt and fall over. It looked surprised by its own antics, but never tired of them. Another rabbit had a beautiful silky coat, and looked as if it wanted everyone to admire it. On closer inspection, however, it was rather bony, and when it tried to move to another part of the pen it proved itself lame, as well.
Come to think of it, quite a few of the rabbits seemed to have trouble getting around. They would hop a tentative little hop, and then sit there in awkward bunny silences. Though there was ample food and water, most looked underfed. As much as I felt sorry for the poor things, I couldn't bring myself to take one home. I've never had one before, so I don't think it would be a good idea to start with an unhealthy one. I thanked the man for his time, and he nailed another flying insect in reply.
So, the search for the elusive plot bunny continues.